Holy Mary
by the inc pot
Summary: AU Trory: How to get the Mary over The King of Yale, and fall for The former King of Chilton. ON HIATUS.
1. Mr Rodger's Witty Remarks

**Holy Mary**

By Bethany Inc

Summary: AU Trory: How to get the Mary to get over The Yale King, and fall for The former King of Chilton.

Blue eyes are a striking feature when mixed with tousled brown hair, and alabaster pale skin. They pop when they connect with other sets of eyes – they demand attention and claim the room as they graze a path across it. When paired with a million dollar worth smile, it can easily make the owner the most ravishing, perhaps even dashing human being in the room.

But tonight, a pair of blue eyes that would have had any person willing to fall were blood shot, and watering. Black lashes closed themselves over the orbs of cerulean, shielding the hurt inside of them from the outside world. Salty seas of tears spilled from the corners, making tributaries down the apple cheeks – rosy from that salt seeping within the pores.

A sniffled escaped the young, blue eyed, brown haired woman as she brought a soft, cotton tissue over her face, using her fingers to massage the cloth over her eyes and cheeks to absorb all of the salty moisture. The tears, and the actions of the woman weren't what some would deem typical. She was strong, and independent. She was able to hold her head high when someone tried to put her down with measly, meaningless words. She knew what she was capable of, and if someone told her different then she'd just set a path to prove them wrong.

God forbid someone would ever try and make her feel inferior. Inferior and Rory Gilmore never made a positive sentence. She was too amazing to be inferior – so what had her crying on this deceitful evening? A mediocre, insipid, foolish jackass.

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said, her voice shaky and unstable. She sniffled again, wiping her nose free of bodily murk, before curling her head deeper into the armrest cushion of the caramel, suede of the couch.

"Don't, or won't?"

"Both."

The blonde that had been sitting with the young woman for over twenty minutes now, huffed, and crossed her lean arms over her chest, letting her brown eyes befall on the mess of the woman that had her legs curled in her lap. She wasn't used to playing the dutiful friend when one was in emotional pain, "He's not worth it, Rory," she cooed softly, reaching over and stroking soft, brown strands of hair away from her friend's face, "If he's making you cry then he's not worth the tears."

"When did you become Dr. Phil?" the brunette deadpanned. Her body shook with another outburst of salty tears. She sat up slowly, positioning herself on the couch, and running a pale, soft hand through her hair. "When did I become this type of girl?" She asked, biting her lip and pulling it into her mouth.

"What type of girl?"

"The kind of girl that becomes an emotional wreck because a boy doesn't like her."

"You're far from being an emotional wreck."

"Yeah? Then why am I sitting here and crying? Why am I wondering what I did wrong?"

"Because you just had a guy that you've been crazy over for a little less then a year break up with you, that's why, Rory." The blonde rose an almost perfect eyebrow that complimented the cold brown eyes she usually had, "You did nothing wrong, he's just a jackass. He's just… ah, I don't even know what he is!"

"He's incorrigible."

"That's one way to describe how idiotic Huntzberger is."

"I feel like an idiot."

"Well…" she started, shrugging, "you know what they say."

"No… what do they say?"

"Women fake orgasms but men fake entire relationships."

Rory let out a watery laugh, albeit a very weak, and rickety one. She piled all of the dirtied tissues in her hands, and closed her eyes as if internally letting the realization of being single wrack over her for once, and for all. She stood, and stretched her back as she stood in front of the couch, letting a yawn escape her lips, "I'm going to bed."

"It's nine o' clock on a Saturday night, Rory. It's a bit early, even for me."

"I'm tired," she tells her friend, "Crying for the first time in ages can do that to a girl, you know."

"I know."

"I'll see you in the morning?"

"I'll be the girl watching CSPAN," the blonde laughs, standing and walking towards a closed, brown, wooden door, "Rory," she says, and turns around, her left hand resting on the cool brass door handle, "You can talk to me anytime you want, you know. I may be a bit cranky, but I'll still lend you an ear."

"Thanks, Paris," the brunette smiles, tossing her tissues away in the stainless steal trash can that stood at the end of the kitchenette counter. "'Night."

"Good night, Gilmore."

---Gilmore Girls---

"Cheyenne," Rory smiled, opening her apartment door, allowing the Caucasian male to enter. He carried a tray of four coffees in one hand, and a bag of, what Rory presumed were, pastries in the other, "do you need any help?"

He didn't bother looking back at her, he just merely placed his goods on the coffee table. Making sure everything was steady on the pile of books, magazines, papers and the box of tissues that became Rory's best friend the previous night, he sighed and placed his hands on his hips. "You had me worried sick!" He exclaimed, turning to face her, his eyebrows raising in concern, "You did not call me when you got home last night, young lady! For all I knew you were abducted by Harvalites and forced to dress in a horrible Pilgrim costume!"

Rory shook her head, and tucked hair behind her ears, letting out a long, suffering sigh, "That would have been a pleasant time compared to what happened last night."

Cheyenne plopped down onto the couch, and patted the comfortable cushion next to him, "Come sit next to Chey – he'll make it all better."

Rory crossed her arms, and made her way to the couch, plopping unceremoniously down next to her friend, and sighed yet again. "He broke up with me."

"I bet he's gay."

Rory opened her mouth in horror, and tears stung her eyes, threatening to fall. "Are you trying to say I turned him gay?"

"God no, honey," he said, wrapping his arm around her, and pulling her into a tight half hug, "I'm just saying with a body like yours, any guy would have to be gay to break up with you."

"So I've turned all three of my boyfriends gay?"

"Are you _that_ horrible in bed, babe?"

"Ugh," Rory cried, burying her head in her hands. She shook her head, and let out a rickety chuckle, "I've only slept with two guys, Cheyenne!"

"I should teach you the trick of the trade."

"I don't want to pick up gay men."

"Honey, you don't know what you're missing."

"Potential homicidal thoughts?"

"Besides those."

"Uh huh," she laughs, leaning forward and snatching the pastry bag into her hands, hurriedly pulling the top apart and peering inside, "Banana?" She cried, "Why are you contaminating my apartment with healthy food?"

"It has sugar in it!"

"But not enough to cancel out the healthy!"

"When you're two hundred and fifty pounds don't come running to me."

"I think I'd have heart failure if I tried to run and I weighed that much."

"Is Rory Gilmore becoming a cynic?"

"I live with Paris."

"Ah, point taken."

Rory bit into the banana muffin, and gave Cheyenne her Bambi eyes that Lorelai had taught her to use on the opposite sex, "Will you get me a napkin?" she pouted, blinking her eyelashes at him.

"Honey, I'm gay." He sighed, clapping his hands onto his knees, and stood, making it overly dramatic.

"Oh no!" Rory cried, in mock hurt, "You're gay? Oh the agony! The agony!"

"I'm so sorry you had to find out this way," Cheyenne said, frowning, but his laughing hazel eyes gave away his current state of emotion. He stroked hair away from her forehead, and cupped her face with his hands, "Are you feeling better?" He asks as he makes his way towards the kitchenette to grab her a napkin.

"A little bit," Rory mumbled through the banana muffin in her mouth, "My heat will mend."

---Gilmore Girls---

He didn't know exactly how he'd ended up here. He knew how he was transported here, but why this place? Why this school that hadn't ever conquered his thoughts – why was he being shipped off to this place? It was too close to home for his comfort: he'd liked the idea of being free to wander and fuck around with people who would never have the chance to inform his parents of his reckless behavior.

But being within the same state as his family, as lovely as they were, didn't appeal to him at all. It was different, living under the same roof with them, but once you'd tasted freedom, and it was within your grasp, to suddenly be yanked back into familiar territory was something a young man of twenty two didn't, and would never want.

"Watch it," someone snapped as they bumped into him, going the opposite way, "are you blind? You honestly couldn't see me there?"

Tristan rose an eyebrow and took his accidental attacker in, and let out a short laugh, "Are you serious?" he asked rhetorically, "Who could miss that sweater? What? Does your mother still pick out your clothes?"

"You think you're so funny, don't you?" the guy in the sweater seethed, two guys walking up beside him, "You should start watching where you're walking – wouldn't want to get on the bad side of people."

"Is this still High school? Last I knew I was at college – I must have jumped back a few years."

"Colin, who're you talking to?"

"Some jackass that needs to watch where he's walking, Huntz," the sweater guy, now deemed as Colin said, his eyes focused on Tristan.

"Ah," he said, nodding and taking Tristan in, "New guy? Logan Huntzberger," he said, holding his hand out for Tristan to shake.

"Right," Tristan rose his eyebrows, nodding, "Tell Mr. Rodger's here to back off – I have a feeling his bark is bigger then his bite." Shrugging, Tristan gave a glance to each of the three guys, letting his eyes linger over the shoulder of the one who hadn't spoke, "If you'll excuse me, I see someone who's worth my time."


	2. Hit Men

**Chapter Two: **Hit Men

---Gilmore Girls---

He had no intentions of ever seeing her again. It'd been too much of a relief when he was finally shipped off to Military School in North Carolina, hundreds of miles away from her. From Chilton. From his parents. From his life. It'd been like some demented lock was released from around his lungs – he felt like he could finally breathe again, as corny and un-symbolic as that may seem.

He'd finally deemed himself happy when he arrived at Military School. The girls, although unflatteringly buff, were pleasant enough – not that he'd ever wanted to have a roll in the hay with any of them. The guys, though more muted with their lust for the female form, we're decent and trust worthy. He'd met a few lifetime friends at Military School.

"I thought you were destined for The Art Institute," he chided, stepping in line behind the worthy being at the coffee kiosk.

"I hardly believe you remember!" the person gasped, turning around and smacking Tristan lightly on the shoulder, "Tristan Dugrey! Well don't you look robust!"

"Cheyenne, it's always a pleasure." Tristan laughed, clapping his hand on Cheyenne's shoulder, "How've you been since graduation?"

Cheyenne sighed dramatically, tossing the back of his hand against his forehead radically, "Oh, you know how the windmill churns!" He said, clapping his hands together, "And mommy said no to Art school. Apparently wanting to become the next Dolce to Gabbana was too absurd for a Lennon."

"Sorry, man," Tristan told him, shaking his head, "I got shipped here from Vanderbilt. My father wanted me closer so he could teach me the ropes to being the next Gustave Eiffel."

Cheyenne nodded and stepped up to the counter of the kiosk, placing his order for a large cream and sugar coffee. Turning back to Tristan as he waited, he tilted his head, "Are you graduating here – or are you going to go to some Hartford community college so you can be even closer to your family?"

"I'm graduating from Yale."

"Great, I'll show you around – introduce you to my friends. I met this cute little brunette. I've taken her under my wing."

"A brunette? Huh, how great are her legs?"

"Darling," Cheyenne cooed, paying for his coffee, "Those legs," he continued taking said coffee in his hand, and draping an arm around Tristan's shoulders, guiding him away from the kiosk and towards one of the dorm buildings, "are Heaven sent. Her boyfriend just broke up with her last night."

"Harsh."

"_And_ it was her birthday no less. I'm headed there right now, care to join me?"

"A leggy brunette, and she's vulnerable? Uh, thanks, but this is a new shirt and I don't want water works to break it in." he laughed, shrugging Cheyenne's arm off his shoulders, "I'll catch you around campus, okay?"

Cheyenne shrugged, and nodded, "Your call. Later."

"Later," Tristan snapped his fingers, pointing them in Cheyenne's direction, as he took backward steps back from the way they came.

Tristan did all sorts of women: tall women, short women, and skinny women, even women who were a little thick. He did leggy, big boobs, small boobs, blonde hair, brown hair, and red haired women. But the women he simply would not do: vulnerable women, or drunk women. Psychotic women, and old women. Sure, you could throw in a little jail bait here and there if they lied about their age – but Tristan was a man of dignity. He didn't want to go around saying he got laid; but only because the woman had just had her heart broken.

Running a hand through his blonde hair, he sighed. Cheyenne always had a thing for pulling leggy brunettes under his wing: Tristan had always noticed this. Cheyenne was gay, but man was he a sucker for a pretty woman.

---Gilmore Girls---

"He broke up with you?" Lorelai snapped into mother mode as soon as she looked at the saddened expression on her only daughter's face, "That jackass! I told you he wasn't any good for you."

"Can we save the, 'I-told-you-so', attitude for a time when I don't feel like I'm going to break into a million pieces at any given second. I know you warned me to stay away from Logan, but I just… I wasn't thinking."

"Aww, Ror," Lorelai's expression softened, and she pulled her daughter in a sympathetic, and motherly embrace. "I'm sorry he broke you."

"I'm not a toy," Rory mumbled, rubbing her T-zone with her hand, squinting her eyes closed, "I can't be broken. I can be severely hurt, but not broken."

"Need I remind you of the time Jess broke you?"

"With the help of a mechanic device, a furry thing and a tree."

"I hope the furry thing is alive."

"I'm pretty sure the furry thing was scared back into the woods."

"Good," Lorelai conceded, taking in a deep breath and giving her daughter a once over. "You do know your father _will_ wring Logan's neck, right?"

"Can't say that I ever doubted he wouldn't."

"And then your grandfathers are simply going to go ballistic when they hear that their pride and joy, though conceived at a very bad time, was hurt on her own twenty first birthday? Gosh, I hope Limbo Boy has body guards. The Gilmore's and Hayden's are going to sic a lot of mean, grumpy fat men on him."

"Why are they going to be mean, grumpy and fat?"

Lorelai shrugged, "It's just how I always pictured hit men."

"Oh," Rory nodded, curling her legs into her arm's embrace, "Wait – you've pictured hit men before?"

"When Dean broke up with you."

"Which time?"

"The first, second, and third time."

"I should have known."

"And then when Jess broke you."

"Uh huh."

"And then when you told me he kissed you."

"I kissed him."

"And then the time he left you."

"I get it." Rory sighed, rubbing her forehead.

"And then the time I caught you and Dean in the act—"

"Whoa, okay. Enough skipping down memory lane with hit men."

Lorelai laughed, and draped her arm over her daughter's shoulders, tugging her closer, "This is one of our last nights in this house together, Ror," she sighed, resting her head on Rory's shoulder, letting her eyes take in the ambiance of the living room. "In just a few weeks… your father will live here."

Rory grinned, "I'm so happy you and dad are working things out."

"Yeah, well, your grandparent's vow renewal was a wake up call. Walking in on you and Logan made me sick." Rory rose an eyebrow, and looked at her mom, willing her to continue. "I mean – that was something _my_ parents would walk in on when me and Christopher were younger."

"Visual aids are not what I wanted to see!"

Lorelai shrugged sheepishly, and glanced at the on-going movie on their living room television. "I saw Jess." She said randomly, turning to look Rory in the eye, "And it was awkward."

Rory frowned, and nodded slowly, "Oh?"

"I said hi, he said hi. He left, I left. It was all very short."

"I see," she said, standing up, and stretching her arms over her head, letting her muscles crack, "I'm tired. I'm going to bed." Making her way out of the living room, she ran her hands over her face, taking in a deep breath of air. "Night."

"Rory," Lorelai called after her, bolting to her feet, and following, "Don't be mad at me! I didn't know he was going to be around – I would have told you!"

"Don't worry about it," she snapped, closing her door directly behind her as she entered her bedroom, clicking the lock into place.

---Gilmore Girls---

She was dreading the minute she'd have to walk into the Yale Daily News, confident that she'd see a now ex-boyfriend sitting leisurely at the desk across from hers. She had trepidations of having to be friendly to him, although he had been a little on the hostile side towards her when she'd allowed herself to let a small sob escape her lips when he'd broken up with her.

Rory braced herself, her hands clutching onto the satchel strap that rested against her breasts as she made short, anxious steps into the Daily News office. She closed her eyes, and made the familiar trek to her desk, sitting down in her familiar chair, and letting all of her things fall to the floor before she opened her eyes. She stared at the black computer screen, trying to convince herself to raise her eyes across the room towards another familiar desk.

She couldn't do it. She sighed, throwing her head into her hands, letting her eyes close against her palms. She sighed, letting a breath uneasily fall from her lips before reaching down, and turning the button on the tower on. She listened for the familiar beep of her computer starting, the rumble of the CD drive indicating it was loading all of her files, and saved documents.

She felt somewhat out of her element as she waited for her computer to load.

"Morning Gilmore." Paris said to her, as she took a seat on the corner of her desk, "I have an assignment for you."

"I haven't been in here for more then five minutes Paris, what could you of possibly thought of for me in that time frame?"

Paris rose an eyebrow, and rested her hands in her lap, "We live together, Gilmore. I'm always thinking of assignments."

"Fine, and the story you're going to make me research is?"

"Drum roll please," Paris deadpanned, handing Rory a sheet of paper.

Rory scanned her eyes over the preliminary research, and groaned, "You want me to research the men's soccer team?"

"It seems we may have an undefeated season with a few new additions to the team. I want you to put your witty twist on it, Gilmore. If anyone can make anything interesting: it's you."

"Great, just great, Paris. Have you forgotten something?"

"No.. what?"

"I hate sports!"

"Well set your hatred for physical exertion aside for a few weeks, and write the damn article. It'll probably be first page stuff – you get to go in and get the scoop of the guys that all the girls want to jump."

"Uh, I don't want to jump any of the guys on any of the sport's teams."

"Wasn't Logan the Tennis captain?"

"Well… yeah—"

"Then I just proved you wrong, now didn't I?" Paris taunted gleefully, standing, and resting her hands on her hips, "Deadlines November third. Can you handle it, Gilmore?"

"Yes, Paris."

"Great."

Rory stared after Paris as she walked away, shaking her head in woe. Sports, and Rory Gilmore **never **went together.

---Gilmore Girls---

**Author Note:** I don't give a lot of Author's Notes, but yet here I've written one.

As many ( more like all ) of you know, Straub Hayden ( Christopher's father ) died in season five. I, however, always wanting the elder Hayden's to partake in Rory's life, have disregarded that simple event – as well as the dinner at the Gilmore's when Rory was sixteen.

And I believe I enlightened you all on why Cheyenne is there, have I not?

--Bethany


	3. Legs Like Gisele

**Chapter Three: **Legs Like Gisele

---Gilmore Girls---

"What does one wear to interview the men's soccer team?" Rory asked Cheyenne, who'd taken up residence on her bed, flipping through her last month's issue of Vogue, "I have no clue what to wear!" She cried in anguish, tossing the sweater she'd had in her hand to the floor, slapping her palm to her forehead.

"Honey," Cheyenne sighed, closing the magazine, standing and walking to the door of Rory's closet, "You have more clothes then even _I_ do and you have nothing to wear? Gosh, darling, I never thought I'd see the day when you didn't know what to wear."

Rory scoffed, and went about her business of looking for something appropriate to wear, "I don't do sporty things. They're going to be doing whatever the hell they do to get ready for whatever the hell they play, right?"

"Uh huh."

"So I can't wear a skirt and heels, correct?"

"Probably not so logical."

"So I should wear jeans and sneakers, right?"

"Sounds simply ravishing," Cheyenne's grin burst from the corners of his mouth and he dove his hands into her closet, pulling out a Yale sweatshirt with a cartoon Handsome Dan on the back, "Look school-spirity."

Rory took the sweatshirt in her hand and shuddered, shaking her head in mild disdain, "Don't guys like to see skin?"

"Of course we do."

"Then why'd you give me a sweatshirt?"

"Because guys think female forms look simply smashing in oversized, unflatteringly garments that look simply ridiculous on a girl if it's theirs."

Rory looked at the sweatshirt, and dropped it to the ground, letting her feet step over the fabric, "Its Logan's tennis sweatshirt," she told him, scrunching her nose up, before rubbing her eyes, "Get it out of here, Cheyenne."

Cheyenne frowned, and tugged the sweatshirt out from beneath her feet. He looked at it, and held it with his index finger and thumb, holding it away from his body as if it was suddenly diagnosed with a fatal disease. Throwing her bedroom door open, he tossed it into the common room, before pulling the door closed behind him as he reentered Rory's bedroom.

"It's residing on the floor, darling," he told her, "Paris'll probably find something crafty to do with it."

Rory nodded, and swung around, holding a green and turquoise sweatshirt up to her chest, "Yes?"

"American Eagle?" he laughed, clapping his hands together, "It looks simply ravishing with your complexion, dear. Go for it."

"Didn't you want to become a fashion designer, Chey?" she asked, pulling the sweatshirt over her head, before pulling her hair from the collar.

"Mhmm."

"Why are you here then?"

"My mother didn't want to let me go to the Art Institute," he sighed dramatically, placing his hand to his forehead, and throwing himself onto Rory's bed, before propping himself up by his elbows, "Apparently being gay is one thing – but when I try to bring my 'flaming ideas inside the house of Leonard and Victoria Lennon, I've gone to far'. Mummy dearest's words, not mine."

"I'm sorry," Rory frowned, slipping a turquoise scarf belt through the belt hoops on her jeans, tying it in a pretty knot when the end met up with the beginning. "My mom is actually looking to start a tiny fashion line, and sell it in a boutique she's thinking about opening in Cedar Hill. You should talk to her about you drawing some sketches for the line; I'm sure she'd love your work. You're amazing."

"Oh, lovely, how you make me blush!"

---Gilmore Girls---

Saying Rory Gilmore felt out of her league as she walked towards Yale's athletic fields, tiny notebook and pen in her back pocket, would be completely and entirely true. She wasn't sure why she'd agreed to Paris' article proposition – Paris knew that she opposed anything to do with sports; so why had she chosen her of all people? On some level, not so deep down in side, Rory knew that Paris had it in for her.

"Hi," she said nervously, coming up to the group of soccer players, sitting around, a few balls discarded by their sides, or in their laps, "I was wondering if I could have an interview with a few of you for an article for the Yale Daily News."

One of the guys laughed, and looked at her, "What happened to the guy that always interviewed us? Lloyd, or something. Jake, you remember his name?"

"Doyle, I think."

"Right," Rory said, raising an eyebrow. She chanced a glance around the team players – all of whom where very athletic looking. Most of them had short hair, but there was a brunette towards the back of the group whose hair was pulled back with a headband—Rory inwardly chided him to get a hair cut. "Could I speak with the captains first?"

"You can do more then speak," one of the players said, standing. Rory took in his appearance, and furrowed her eyebrows, "Alex Munns," he introduced himself, "And this," he said, motioning towards another of the standing guys, "Is Jake Miller, and Tristan Dugrey. Tri-captains."

Biting down on her bottom lip so hard she could taste the bitter, metallic tang of blood on her tongue, she nodded, "Hello," she said to the three of them, mentally chastising herself to act like she'd never heard of Tristan Dugrey before, "So… I'd like to begin with how last year's season went. Ups, downs…"

---Gilmore Girls---

"You bitch!" Rory cried, slamming her way into the dorm suite she shared with Paris, and tossing her notebook and pen on to the table beside the door, "You _knew_ he was on the soccer team! You _knew_ he transferred to Yale! You daughter of a bitch! I can't believe you willingly threw me in with a bunch of guys and Tristan happened to be one of them!"

Paris looked up from her copy of The New York Times, seemingly unaffected by Rory's outburst. Clucking her tongue against her teeth, she set the paper down on the table, and crossed her legs, leaning back into the couch. As Paris got comfortable, Rory sent her many death glares as she stalked into the kitchenette, murmuring and muttering her dissatisfaction for the blonde in her current state, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Gilmore," she scoffed, examining her nails.

"You knew Tristan flipping Dugrey transferred to Yale, Paris!" She cried, flaring her arms above her head as she groaned in frustration, "Why would you do that? You were in love with him! Why didn't _you_ do the article?"

Paris shrugged, "I was not in love with Dugrey, Gilmore," she snapped, standing and walking towards the kitchenette, "I was mildly infatuated with him while I had a brief lapse of sanity."

"Right."

"Anyway, I thought you two would like to catch up."

"Well you thought wrong."

"Did I? Because last I knew – when he was bidding us, well, rather _you, _good-bye; he wanted to kiss you. Not me, you."

"Yeah, because he wanted to piss Dean off his rocker!"

"Typical, Rory Gilmore – oblivious."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Paris shook her head, tapping her finger nails against the granite of the counter, "Did you get any good research?"

"Mhmm."

"Great. But I don't want good, Gilmore! I want great! Outstanding! Unworldly!"

Rory shot Paris a look, and poured herself a mug of her freshly brewed coffee. She took a sip, and gripped her mug tighter in her hands, "I understand Paris. It needs to be amazing, yeah, yeah, yeah. Everything I write is amazing."

"Getting a little modest, now aren't we?"

"I've been spending to much time around Tristan," she snapped, her voice dripping with malice. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some homework I need to do."

Rory stepped around Paris and trekked her way into her bedroom, not surprised to see Cheyenne conked out on her bed. She sighed, setting her mug gently down on her desk before flopping onto the window seat. Tracing her fingers over the glass, she bit her lip and watched as students mulled about in the courtyard, going about their daily routines.

---Gilmore Girls---

"We're meeting at the pub tonight, right Munns?" Tristan asked as he rubbed a white, cotton towel against the back of his neck.

"Definitely," was Alex's answer as he pulled on a fresh polo t-shirt, sliding his deodorant over his armpits, ridding him of his body odor, "What'd you think about that reporter? If I'd know the smart girls looked like that I wouldn't be wasting my time with the cheerleaders."

"She's got some legs," Tristan agreed, pulling his soccer sweatshirt over his t-shirt as he turned around to look at the other guys, "So – pub, around nine tonight?"

"Uh huh," Jake said, as he stepped into the locker row that Tristan, Alex and a few other guys were changing in, "Did anyone catch that girl's name?"

"I'm pretty sure she didn't say it," one of the other team players told them, shrugging, "She works for our paper though, right?"

"Right."

"Then just look for her there."

Tristan slung his duffle bag, filled with his dirty practice clothes, over his shoulder, and grinned at the rest of his teammates. Walking towards the exit of the locker room, he turned his head back towards them, "I'll see you guys tonight."

Walking out of the locker room, Tristan felt a gush of cold, October air overwhelm his face and his body. He groaned, and rubbed his forehead, wishing Rory Gilmore to go the hell away. He'd spent the last four, going on five years trying to get her out of his head. But when he finally thought he'd succeeded, that all traces of Rory Gilmore were out of his life, he ends up at the same college as she did.

"Wasn't she Harvard bound?" he asked himself as he walking towards the Old Campus, where his lofty dorm was located.

Unlocking the door to his dorm, he dropped his duffle bag beside the door, kicking it shut behind him as he made his way towards his bedroom. He was having trouble comprehending the notion that Rory Gilmore had now just sprung up into his life again; when he least expected it.

"Great, just fucking great," he groaned, dropping onto his bed, and staring at his ceiling where, had he still been at Military School, a poster of a half naked Gisele Bundchen would be taped.

---Gilmore Girls---


	4. Raise Your Arms

**Chapter Four**: Raise Your Arms

---Gilmore Girls---

_Cabana Banana_ nail polish coated themselves over Rory's nails as she cradled her cell phone between her left shoulder and ear. Sighing into the phone as she listened to the person on the other end, she closed her nail polish, and shook it repeatedly before reopening it and resuming the painting of her nails.

"Cheyenne," she sighed, blinking her eyes, and allowing a yawn to escape her lips, "I'm not really up for the pub tonight."

"_How can you possibly not want to scope out the hotties, Ror?_"

"I'm tired, for one thing. And another reason not to go is because the pub is not my scene. How long have you known me?" she asked, finishing her second coat of _Cabana Banana_, "Exactly!" she cut him off, "You know Logan tried repeatedly, and with no avail, to get me into the bar scene. Excuse me if I don't find amusement in slipping on a pair of fishnets, and dancing on table tops."

"_You may not find amusement in dancing on tables, but I'm definitely sure the guys would..._" He paused thoughtfully, before continuing: "_Well… the straight guys, anyway._"

"I just really don't feel like going out tonight."

"_What are you doing right now?_"

"Why?"

"_Answer the question, Gilmore._"

"Painting my nails."

"_Color?_"

"Yellow."

"_Put on a pair of jeans, and a yellow sweater. I'll be there in fifteen. Bye!_"

"Chey!" Rory cried into her cell phone, but only to be greeted with the ever-consistent _"erne, erne"_ of the dial tone. "Ugh, the jackass!" she sniffed, placing her nail polish back into it's rightful place.

Hopping off of her window seat, Rory stretched her arms high over her head as she walked towards her closet, mapping out Cheyenne's murder while she went. She hadn't been to the pub in eons and in some sick, and twisted way; she was teetering on the verge of being happy that Chey had somewhat conned her into going.

"Darling, I've arrived! Hold the applause, hold the applause!" Cheyenne called dramatically, throwing Rory's dorm-suite door open, covering his eyes with his hand to save himself from seeing Rory in a state of undress.

"I'm decent, _darling_," Rory said maliciously, turning to retrieve her cell phone off of the bench; slide it into her jeans pocket, "I can't believe you're making me go to the pub."

"Why's that?"

"Because _he_ will be there. And _he_ is jerk that I will have to see flirting and groping random girls."

"Then why don't you flirt with random guys with a side dish of groping?"

Rory shot him a disbelieving look, and shook her head, "Because _I_ have the decency not to rub a break up in someone's face."

"Well maybe you should kick your morals out of your pretty mahogany door and get down with your bad self. _Bumpa chicka bow wow_!"

"I can't believe you just said that!"

"Which part?"

"Both!"

"I thought the enthused porn music fit very nicely into my very recent word formation."

"Well, Chey, you thought wrong." She smiled sweetly at him, reaching up and pinching his cheek with her thumb and index finger. "Let's get going – unless you've changed your mind and you're going to allow me to stay home and read my new copy of _War and Peace_."

"Not a chance in Hell, honey."

"It was worth a shot," Rory sniffed, following Cheyenne out of her dorm suite.

---Gilmore Girls---

"Why did you decide you wanted to come to the pub, Cheyenne?" Rory asked, clasping her fingers around fabric of his shirt, letting him pull her along so she couldn't lose him in the crowd, "It's so crowded in here – you'd think the Dahlia Lama is making an appearance or something."

Cheyenne clucked his tongue against his teeth, and laughed, "My friend invited me – I've known him for years, and I want you to meet him."

"So basically you're setting me up."

"You catch on quick; here I thought your mother was the last one in your family with intelligence."

"Funny."

"I try, love." He turned his head over his shoulder, and shot her a million watt smile. "I have a feeling you'll love him – I'd love him if he liked boys, but alas, he has a thing for girls."

"Oh the horror, the horror." Rory deadpanned, loosening her grip on his shirt, and stepping into stride with him once the crowd thinned out towards the back of the pub.

"My sentiments exactly," Cheyenne chirped, pulling her up to a table full of guys with girls randomly placed in seats, "Hello boys," he grinned, pulling a chair out for himself and sitting down, "This is my friend, Rory Gilmore—Rory, this is the Yale Soccer team, but I'm sure you already knew that seeing as you just saw them today."

Rory folded her arms self-consciously over her chest, and scanned the table, "Hi," she said weakly, settling her eyes on Tristan. She cleared her throat, and looked away; scanning the crowd inside the pub.

"Won't you sit down, Ms. Gilmore?" Alex asked, pointing towards the empty seat next to Tristan.

"Oh, well---"

"Of course she'll sit down," Tristan said, his eyes burning holes into the side of her face, "won't you, _Mary_?"

"Cheyenne said her name was Rory, man, get with it," Jake hissed across the table.

"I guess that leaves me with no choice then, does it?" Rory sucked up her bravery and slipped into the seat beside Tristan, carefully avoiding brushing against him.

Slipping into an uneasy conversation, on Rory's part anyhow, was quite possibly the hardest thing she had accomplished yet. Evidently, seeing a guy after five years of no contact out of the blue one day in your junior year of college can throw anyone off a high horse. She had already been feeling uneasy with her recent break-up with Logan, to the fact that her parents had reconciled after years of a hazardous relationship based solely on being Rory's parents – meeting up with Tristan after years apart was one of the most awkward things she'd dealt with yet.

"So, _Mary_," Tristan breathed into her ear a half hour after she'd entered the pub with Cheyenne, and sat down at their table, "How about we go catch up?"

"Uh… I don't think—"

"Ace?"

"Great," she sighed under her breath, turning slightly in her chair, "Logan… Hi."

"I thought the pub wasn't your scene."

"Yes, well, maybe I've changed my mind since we broke up," she smiled, albeit a very weak one, and stood, swinging her shoulder bag over her shoulder, "Tristan, will you walk me back to my dorm?"

He nodded, and shot Logan a smirk; shrugging his jacket on. "Nice seeing you again, Logan – was that what she called you? Maybe next time we'll be able to sit an chat."

Tristan stood, pushing in both his and Rory's chairs, and placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of the pub. "Was that an ex-boyfriend, Mary?"

"Obviously," she crossed her arms over her chest, and sighed.

"So," he said, trying to move onto a lighter subject, "I didn't know you knew Cheyenne."

"I could say the same for you – he's not exactly Duncan and Bowman."

"Military school changes your views on life."

"I guess so," she shrugged, looking up at him. "How've you been?"

It was Tristan's turn to shrug, "I've been alright, I guess. Military school, Stanford, Yale – it's all the same."

"Girlfriends?"

"Have I ever been the type to have a monogamous relationship, Mary?"

She laughed, and shook her head, "No."

"So that Logan character – what happened there?"

"We dated. We became official – I took him off the market, we stole a yacht – badda bing, badda boom, we're over."

"Mary, you stole a yacht? I guess Chilton offered a course in theft after I left?"

"Oh yes, you really missed out on some great pointers."

"Like what?"

"Like making sure the yacht you steal gives you three hundred hours of community service."

"I'll, uh, keep that in mind for the next time I commit grand theft," he smiled, draping his arm around her shoulder as she led the way back to her dorm. "Is this awkward?"

"Just a little bit."

"So I'm not the only one – great," he breathed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

"This is my stop," she said pointing to a door with a white board on it: 'Rory' scribbled in blue marker on one side, and 'Paris' scribbled in black on the other.

"You room with Paris?"

"I have for the past three years," she told him, slipping her key into the lock of the door, and pushing it open, "After you left, we set up an unstable friendship – and we've been roommates every year."

"I'm sorry."

"What? Why?"

"You live with _Paris_—someone needs to show you sympathy and it might as well be me, right? I know Paris better then anyone here—well, besides you… but come on, Paris? Living with the woman can't be all that easy."

"Oh, it's not, let me tell you." Gesturing inside the room, she cocked her head at him, "Would you like to come in, and have a cup of coffee or something? Paris isn't home – she went out with Doyle so there won't be any… uh, awkward moments." Rory mentally berated herself the moment she let the words slip out of her mouth; remembering that only hours before she was flipping out over the fact that Paris had made her face Tristan after years of separation and no contact.

"I have nothing better to do, and I'd rather not go back to the pub," he said, following her inside.

"Will you close the door, please?" she asked as she dropped her purse onto the hook besides the door, and kicked her clogs off. "So, coffee? Hot cocoa? Water? Coke?" she asked him, as she made her way towards the kitchenette.

"Uh, waters fine."

"Great," she called, opening the refrigerator and pulling a water bottle out along with a Coke for herself, "Make yourself comfortable," she told him as she walked back into the common room.

"Thanks," he said, sitting down on the couch. Rory sat next to him willingly and handed him the bottle, "Wow… I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself here."

"Me either."

"So…" Tristan sighed, a few moments later, eyeing the clogs she'd kicked off of her feet minutes before, "Nice shoes, wanna fuck?" he leered, a smirk fully intact on his face.

"Well, I'm a firm believer in at least knowing the birthday before things get taken to the next level," she teased, sipping her soda; crossing her legs. She shot him a mocking, seductive look, and fought to keep a laugh in.

"June 19th, 1984."

"Tristan! I was kidding!"

He shrugged, and grinned, "When's _your_ birthday?"

"October 8th.."

"Year?"

"You know that already."

"I'd like to hear it confirmed, you know? To make sure you're not jail bait."

"1984."

"Great, and your bedroom would be where?"

"Alright, Mister," Rory squeaked, standing quickly, and pointing towards the door, "I think it's time for you to go."

"Aww, but I don't wanna," he pouted, standing also, and glancing around her dorm, "Ooh! Is that room yours?" he asked, moving towards the door that had caught his attention with a pin, feather boa wrapped around the frame.

Her eyes widening, Rory bit her lip, "Uh, no! That's erm… Paris' room. Yes, that's it! It's Paris' room!"

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes… Paris has taken up Cabaret in her spare time," she lied, nodding ferociously as she walked in Tristan's direction.

"Can I see?"

"No!"

Tristan smirked at Rory, and twisted the door knob open to reveal Rory's bedroom, "Is Paris' Cabaret dancing nickname 'Rory'?" he asked, gesturing to her name painted in black, scripted letters above her closet.

"Ugh," Rory sniffed, covering her face with her hands, and slumping down into her window seat. "This is way too… weird, Tristan. Just the thought of sleeping with you makes it weird…"

"Why? I promise that I have a lot of expertise in the bed department."

"Jesus," Rory sighed, "I don't even like you like that. I haven't seen you in five years and all of a sudden, on the same day that we connect again I'm going to sleep with you?"

"Hey, I promise I won't complain." He said, holding his hands up in mock-surrender, "but I do promise to make you moan," he grinned, and moved towards her.

"And here he comes, ladies and gentleman."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've turned into your sophomore year self."

"Gee, thanks."

Rory shot him a look, and crossed her legs Indian style. She folded her hands in her lap, and stared up at the ceiling, "It's not that your repulsive, and have a ridiculously long list of innuendos – it's just that I'm not comfortable with you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… I don't see you as more then a friend – and friends sleeping with friends always gets complicated."

Tristan shrugged, taking residence on the seat beside her, "What if we strike up a deal before hand – because let's face it, Rory – we're not sixteen or seventeen, anymore. We're not at Chilton, and we don't have Bag boy around anymore—that I'm aware of, anyway… things are bound to get a lot more than platonic with us being around each other now – we're both friends with Chey, and we're bound to get thrown together more then once."

"So what's this deal?"

"Friends… with benefits."

"Tristan," Rory shook her head, and slid off of her window seat, and glanced around her room, scratching the wrinkles that formed on her forehead as she scrunched her face in thought, "This is like… some horrible teen movie where the two people forming that kind of relationship both like each other in more then a friends kind of way… and we're not like that."

"Uh huh…"

"We're barely friends with an underlying sense of sexual tension."

"Then we'll take our sexual frustrations out on each other – no harm, no foul."

"We'll get attached—"

"If we do, then we do. Don't let get real emotions wrapped up in this… it's easy."

"It sounds complicated."

"Hey—what's life without a little bit of complication, Mary?" Tristan stood; allowing himself to come within a two foot distance of her, "What do you say? Hooking up with no ulterior motives?"

"Ugh, I don't know…"

"Well, let's just try it out – okay?"

"Tristan.."

"I'm going to kiss you, and you won't slap me, okay?" He smirked, closing the space between them slowly, pressing the gentlest of kisses on her lips. He draped his arm around her back, pulling her closer to him as he tried to coax a reaction from her lips.

Stumbling backwards slightly, Rory's back hit the wall beside the open door. She sighed softly, breaking away from Tristan's kiss, allowing her eyes to connect with his, "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he whispered in her ear, slowly, as he reached out and brushed his hand over her cheek.

"No…" she whispered back, not entirely sure why on Earth they were whispering when they were the only ones in the suite, "Close the door."

"With pleasure," he grinned, pressing another kiss against her lips, as he used his hand to push the door closed. It shut with a snap, and as soon as the sound was heard between the two, any second thoughts about the rushed, and not-so-fool-proof deal were thrown out of their minds.

Tristan fused his lips to Rory's as she wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing her fingers to run themselves through the short, blonde hairs on the base of his neck. He ran his tongue over her upper lip, his hands fondling the expanse of skin that her shirt left exposed. She parted her mouth ever so slightly allowing him to devour her mouth whole; which he did in minimal time.

She tasted bittersweet: a combination between undiluted coffee and bubbly coca cola. He met her tongue with his own, coaxing a soft, guttural moan from inside Rory's throat. He pressed her against the wall with a bit more force, allowing himself to take shallow breaths before connecting his mouth with hers again.

Pushing his hips against hers, he groaned lowly, and slid her shirt upwards, allowing it to push over her breasts. "Raise your arms," he lowly commanded, which she quickly obliged to.

Clothes scattered the floor only moments after Tristan quickly carried Rory, whose legs were tightly wrapped around his waist, towards the bed. Dropping her on her back, he quickly covered her with his body, pressing feather light kisses against her collar bone. He moved his hands to her back, unclasping the tan bra that sheathed her breasts.

"Tristan," she sighed lowly, arching her torso into his as she pulled his belt from the belt loops.

He groaned, pressing his erection into her soft spot. He delved his tongue over her breasts, letting his attention settle on her right nipple as he slipped his hand under the waistband of her jeans. He tugged lightly on soft curls as he slipped his hand further into her pants, allowing him to stroke her while he worked his magic with his tongue over her chest.

Her whimper was enough to send him over the edge when he touched her with feather like strokes. Rory unbuttoned his pants with strained grace, and pushed them downwards letting him kick out of his shoes; pants in that exact order. He pulled his hand out of her pants, and kissed down her stomach slowly, unbuttoning the button on her jeans quickly; lowering the zipper before he tugged them down her legs.

Rory groaned as he kissed the inside of her thighs, and pulled her panties down, and off of her legs. "Remember," he whispered, sliding up her body, placing his hands over hers, and bringing them to the waistband of his boxers, "no attachments."

Rory nodded, not trusting her voice as she pushed his boxers down, revealing him in all his excited glory. She reached towards her right, and pulled open the drawer on her nightstand, pulling a wrapped condom out of it's hiding place. She ripped it open easily, and carefully before placing it over his tip. She smirked at him, pressing her lips against his, using her kiss as a distraction as she rolled the condom over his length, giving him soft, and forceful strokes, and rubs as she slid her hand over the slick latex before letting her hands settle on his backside.

Tristan's groans against her mouth filled her bedroom, as he placed his head at her bodily gates, probing into her in one swift motion. Rory's breath hitched in her throat as Tristan stalled, letting his lips skim over the skin on her throat. His breath warmed her skin when he breathed out a soft groan while he started to glide inside of her in a practiced finesse.

It took him only seconds to memorize her walls, and the way she felt against him when he rubbed against her vaginal erogenous zones.

The semi-tightness she encased him with made him teeter over the edge faster then any of the other girls he'd ever slept with. If he kept going until she reached pure, physical bliss, he knew he'd come twice. "Mary," he breathed into her ear, thrusting quicker, and faster inside of her, gripping the sheets in his hands, steadying himself as he shuddered with pleasure, "Oh, God…"

Rory moaned, arching her hips against his, her nails leaving angry, red marks over his back as they made their journey from his behind to his neck, "Harder," she gasped, rolling out from under him quickly, and pinning him down into the bed as she resettled on top of him, her hips rolling in fast, systematic circles.

Moments after the position change, they both reached their climaxes in sync; their bodies dripping with sticky sweat, and buzzing with post-coital enjoyment.

"Friends with benefits…" Rory sighed into Tristan's neck, "sounds nice."

"Mhmm.."

"But…"

"Hmn?"

"I want to keep this a secret.."

"Okay."


	5. Tinkerbell and Bawdy Remarks

**Chapter Five: **Tinkerbell and Bawdy Remarks

---Gilmore Girls---

Waking up with a naked chest pressed against _your_ nude back was something that would always be considered a daily routine for Tristan: although the girl was rarely ever the same. Skin melded against other skin, sticking together with dry sweat. Arms and legs tangled together after a night of sexual exploration, and events.

Tristan let out of a breath of air, contemplating rolling over and going back to bed before he had the strength to open his eyes. The sheets beneath him didn't feel like his own, and the pillow resting under his head of blonde hair was soft, and molded to the shape of his skull. Tristan furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, before the previous night dawned on him.

He slept with _Mary_.

He'd all but forced himself on her.

He convinced her to play a sexual, complicated game of hide and seek with him.

"Shit," he groaned, rolling on his back, careful not to crush the small arm under his frame. He chanced his eyes open, and looked to his left and was met with the sight of a brown haired girl sleeping soundly in the midst of white sheets. He reached his hand over, and cupped her jaw line, blowing a strand of astray hair away from her face.

"Hmm," Rory sighed in her sleep, as she buried her head into the nook of Tristan's neck. Her hands skimmed over the tightened muscles of his stomach before finally finding a comfortable place on the cuts of his lower abdomen.

Tristan sighed, and pressed a kiss to her temple, before raising his back upwards, and gently pulled her arm out from under him; careful not to wake her in the process. Climbing out of Rory's bed, he glanced around the floor, and any other possible places of where he could locate his boxers.

Locating them at the foot of her bed, he slipped them on, and settled them lowly on his hips. He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, letting his eyes settle on Rory for a few moments, before picking his jeans up, and pulling them on.

"Rory, darling! Are you home?"

Tristan's head snapped in the direction of Rory's bedroom door at the sound of Cheyenne's voice. "Shit!" he hissed, moving to grab his shirt quickly.

Cheyenne's hand grasped Rory's bedroom door's doorknob, and he twisted it, allowing him access to Rory's room, "Ror---? Whoa, you're not Rory." Tristan ran his hand over his neck, and shrugged. He glanced towards Rory's sleeping frown, before turning to look at Cheyenne. Cheyenne's jaw dropped, and he exaggeratedly pointed from Rory, to her bed, to Tristan and back, "Oh good God! Oh emme gee! You sexed up _Rory_! Oh my God!"

Tristan quickly closed the distance between them, and clamped his hand over Cheyenne's mouth, "Shhh," he hissed, shoving him out of the bedroom, and closing the door behind them. "You can't tell anyone – Rory can't even know that you know."

"You want me to pretend that I don't know what I know because you don't want her to know that you know that I know what I know?"

"Uh, yes."

"Oh my God!" he sighed, "You slept with Rory!" Cheyenne sniffed, dramatically slapping the back of his hand against his forehead. He dropped onto the sofa, and shook his head, "God – you've known her for less than a day and can already record her as a conquest. A victory. My good God! And I thought I was a man slut!"

"Chey," Tristan sighed, sitting down on an arm chair that resided next to the sofa, "I've known Rory for years…"

"Right."

"Cheyenne," Tristan warned, "It was a… heat of the moment thing. It's not going to happen again," he said, internally scoffing at the idea of not touching Rory intimately for a second and so forth time.

"Do you promise?" Cheyenne pouted, clapping his hands onto his knees, and throwing Rory's bedroom door a quick glance. He allowed himself to take in the pretty, pink feather boa that he used to take as a sign of belated innocence, "Because she's my best friend."

"I promise."

"Great," he nodded, standing. "Well… I'm just going to go play 'I'll show you mine, if you show me yours' with Alexander," he grinned, clapping his hands together flamboyantly, "He's _very _endowed."

"Thank you for that mental image."

"Oh, it's my pleasure, darling."

"Tristan?" Rory called, walking out of her bedroom, pulling a plain white sweatshirt over the tops of yellow, Tinkerbell boy-shorts she'd slipped onto her figure. Looking up, she stopped dead in her barefooted tracks, allowing her eyes to take in the sight of Cheyenne and Tristan talking, "Oh God!" she cried, throwing her hands over her mouth, her eyes becoming wide, and horrified, "He _knows_?" She squeaked towards Tristan, before letting her eyes befall on Cheyenne again, "You _know_?"

"I know, it's a secret," Cheyenne giggled, pressing his left index finger against his lips, "I won't tell."

Rory snorted, and ran her hands through her hair, "Riiight – and George Bush _isn't_ an idiot."

"Someone's quippy this morning. Sex wasn't all that it was cracked up to be?"

"Hey!" Tristan snapped, smacking Cheyenne on the back of his head; walking towards Rory, he gave her an apologetic glance, "Look, Chey, me and Rory need to talk."

"I'm going, I'm going," Cheyenne relented, raising both eyebrows in his direction, "And Rory, darling, that yellow doesn't do your complexion any justice whatsoever."

"Ugh!" Rory groaned, stomping her way back into her bedroom, slamming the door closed behind her.

"Tah, tah for now, my sexy little darlings!" Cheyenne called loudly, skipping out of the door, a grin firmly attached on his face.

Tristan bid Cheyenne adieu, and twisted the door knob to Rory's bedroom left slowly. He pushed the door open and allowed his eyes to settle on her small frame. He smirked, and closed the door, allowing his feet to guide him towards her, "It's not that bad," he told her, sitting down beside her on the bed. "It's probably better this way."

"It's embarrassing."

"How?"

"Cheyenne knows we had sex."

"So?"

"He now knows two of the three guys I've slept with. He wasn't supposed to know. It's going to be horrible now, Tristan. He's always going to make bawdy remarks about us being bed buddies."

Stroking hair away from her face, he smiled sadly, "This doesn't have to happen anymore, Mary," he whispered lowly, pressing a kiss against her temple, "I can just leave here, and go about my business while you go about yours. We won't talk about what happened last night. It'll never have happened in our minds."

"Tristan—"

"I won't be heartbroken, Mare – a bit disappointed about not being able to kiss you, but I'll be far from heartbroken."

"Tristan…"

"Hmn?"

"I don't want to stop being friends with benefits."

"Great," he laughed, laying back on her bed, his arms creating a pillow beneath his head, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"What?"

"Have your dirty little way with me, Mary… _Magdalene._"

"Alright, buck-o. It's time for you to _leave_."

"Aww, but I don't wanna."

"Bye."

Tristan smirked, and sat up on her bed, wrapping his arm casually around her back, "You don't mean that, Mary," he whispered into her ear, letting his breath lace with the hairs on her neck, "Do you?"

"Bastard," Rory declared, turning her head and dusting a kiss against the corner of his mouth.

---Gilmore Girls---

Author Note: Tee he he, how amazingly idiotic was that chapter? I'm sorry about the delay, but it seems my darling brother couldn't keep his smutty paws off of my laptop – it's been broken, and fixed in a little over a week's time, and darlings, I am very excited it's fixed.

I never realized how addicted I am to the computer until recently. Read and Review.


	6. Glacial Reactions

Author Note: Someone asked me how to pronounce 'Cheyenne', and here is the pronunciation: **Shay-Anne. **And if you also need help pronouncing 'Chey'; it's just **Shay**. Is that helpful?

Anyhow, new chapter; read and review.

---Gilmore Girls---

**Chapter Six: **Glacial Reactions

---Gilmore Girls---

_I saw it on your keyboard _

_And you saw it in my eyes _

_I didn't mean to scare you _

_You just seem really nice _

_And when i read it on your keyboard _

_I knew at least i might just have a chance_

---Gilmore Girls---

"Do you want a coffee or anything?" he asked her, sitting up in her bed, and scratching the back of his neck.

She sighed, and rolled onto her back, her eyes still closed, and tired. "You silly, silly boy. Of course I want coffee," she smiled at him, her eyes still remaining sealed closed, "All you have to do is flip the switch on."

"I'm guessing I'm going to make it then?"

"You guessed right, mister." She smiled slightly, before opening her eyes, and peering up at him. "Please." She added as an afterthought.

"You'll be the death of me," he told her, leaning over and picking his boxers up off of the floor, and pulling them on.

"Ditto, buck-o."

She watched him leave her bedroom, her eyes drinking in the image of his bare back. She pulled her pillow over her head, and let out a muffled groan of frustration.

How she'd been roped, if not fell, willingly into the pit of despair she was currently residing in, was beside her. In the back of her mind, where the most rational of thoughts occurred, she knew it was wrong to be sleeping with Tristan while she was so palpably still in love with Logan. She knew it, her mother knew it. Her grandparents knew it, and she knew, in the back of her mind, that even Tristan knew it.

She was vulnerable, and as much as she tried to believe that she wasn't, it was obvious. It was marred on her features when someone, or something reminded her of Logan.

"One hot, steaming fresh cup of coffee at your disposal," Tristan said, bounding lightly into the room. Rory pulled her pillow off of her face, and set it on the bed as she sat up. She reached out for the coffee, and grinned when he handed it to her.

"Thank you," she said, taking a sip of coffee. "So, what are you up to today?"

"I have a class at one," he told her, his eyes quickly scanning the room for a clock. His gaze landed on the wall clock beside her door; eleven twenty one A.M. "And I should probably get going."

"Yeah," she agreed, setting her cup on the nightstand, "I guess I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah," he nodded, pulling his jeans on, and then his shirt, "Do you know where my shoes are?"

"Under my shirt," she told him, watching as he bent down and uncovered his shoes.

He slipped his feet into them, and leaned over, pressing a light kiss to the corner of her mouth, "I'll see you soon," he bid her, standing and walking out her door, "Later."

"Later."

---Gilmore Girls---

"Rory! I'm home!" Cheyenne called, peering his head into the common room of Rory's dorm, "Ror?"

"I'm in the bathroom!"

Cheyenne shrugged, and walked fully into her suite, closing the door behind him. "Is lover boy gone?"

"Uh huh," she said, rubbing her hair dry with a purple, cotton towel. "What've you been up to?"

"I went over Alexander's, and played hide and seek with him," he told her, winking. He placed himself comfortably on the couch, his arms resting against the back of it, "So – I didn't know you knew Tristan."

"High School."

"Chilton?"

"I hated him." She said, shrugging, throwing the towel into the hamper in the corner of the common room. "He hated me. He used to make out with his girlfriends on my locker, infuriated me to no end every day – and then he was an idiot and broke into a safe."

"And he wound up at Military School—"

"Where, evidently, you met him."

"So what's going on between you two?"

"I don't know," she told him honestly, "He's changed, and he's nice—"

"But he's not Logan."

"Exactly," she nodded, falling comfortably into the arm chair beside the couch. She sighed, letting her wet head rest against the back of the chair, as she stared out of the window across the room, "He hurt me, Chey."

"I know, darling."

"I saw him at the pub last night, and it tore me apart… and I just… I really miss him."

"It's obvious, Ror," Cheyenne said, leaning forward, and staring intently at her features, "He loved you, Rory; that much was obvious – but maybe what he felt for you scared the living hell out of him. I wouldn't know, I'm not him."

Rory nodded, and crossed her arms over her chest, "I feel like one of those stupid girls that cry over guys because they don't like them. I've never wanted to be this kind of girl, Chey; and here I am – rotting my life away because some stupid guy was to much of a jerk to understand what he missed out on."

"Exactly, Rory. _He_ is the one missing out. He should be kicking himself over, and over again and wondering what the Hell he did. You should be happy a guy that can't make up his own damn mind is out of your life."

"Then why do I feel so miserable, Chey? Why do I feel like… like no one's ever going to think, "Hey, there's Rory Gilmore – she's cute, I think I may want to marry her someday." Why, Cheyenne? Why do I feel like I'm going to spend the rest of my life alone?"

"I don't know."

"I'm sorry," she said, standing, "I've only had one cup of coffee and I'm an emotional train-wreck."

"We've all had these days, darling," Cheyenne laughed, standing also. He made his way towards the kitchenette, glancing over his shoulder at her, "Would you like me to make you a fresh pot of coffee?"

"You'll be the love of my life."

"Ah," Cheyenne laughed, "But darling – you'll be waiting on the side line for a very, very long time."

"And why's that?"

"Because Alexander is the love of my… month."

"Oh, silly, silly boy."

---Gilmore Girls---

Logan Huntzberger couldn't help but feel like there was an underlying sense of sexual tension between his ex-girlfriend and the boy that had so easily put Colin in his never-before-seen place previously in the week.

Now, he would be the first to admit that he'd felt suffocated by the title of Boyfriend to Rory Gilmore, but knowing that she had somehow already felt comfortable with another guy walking her to her dorm was killing him on the inside. Whether or not it was the fact that Rory could have even have walked the blonde into her bedroom, and more importantly into her bed: the bed he'd once considered his, that made him feel this way was yet to be considered.

And that's what had placed Logan in front of her dorm room the next day, a single, bright yellow sunflower and a cup of coffee in his hand. Letting a sigh escape him, he brought his free hand to the wood, and knocked three times in procession.

"Hold on!" he heard her call from behind the door; he heard a thump, and an 'ouch' come quickly after. "Hello," she said as soon as she opened the door, looking slightly out of breath. It took a few seconds for her to register who was standing outside of her door, and her face visibly deflated, "Logan…"

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, holding out his peace offerings, "I was rash, and I went about it all wrong."

Rory bit her lip, and took the coffee and sunflower from him, "I don't want to do this right now, Logan. I have company."

"Ace," he sighed, running his hand through his hair, "I love you."

"Logan," she hissed, placing her gifts on the table beside the door, before walking outside, clad in only shorts and a tiny t-shirt; shutting the door behind her, "What is your problem?"

He groaned, and rested his back on the wall next to her door, "I didn't like seeing you with him, Rory – and I've never had that reaction before. Normally it's like, 'thank-god, she's found someone else to tag along with', with every other girl; but with you… It was like, I was punched in the gut."

"How do you think I felt when you broke up with me, Logan? On my _birthday_, no less."

"I was a jerk. Let me make it up to you."

"Logan…"

"We'll take things slow this time; no dating other people." He looked at her, before taking her hands in his, "I want to make this work… I want to be with you."

She bit her lip, and glanced downwards at their hands, before he laced their fingers together. She up heaved a sigh from her lungs, and nodded her head, "Okay," she said softly.

"What?"

"Okay," she said louder, looking up at him and making eye contact, "but if you screw this up again, Logan… It's over. For good."

"Okay." He nodded, "I'll pick you up at seven, and pack an over-night bag."

Raising an eyebrow, she smiled slightly, "Where are we going?"

"Ace, after all this time, you'd think you'd be able to just accept a surprise," he grinned, and kissed her cheek, "Seven o' clock, sharp, Ace. Be ready for the blindfold."

---Gilmore Girls---

Rory Gilmore stood at the door of her closet, staring at the hangers that held sweaters, jeans, skirts and dresses. Why was it, when you had all day to figure out what the pack, you couldn't ever find anything to wear – yet, when you had ten minutes, you were a packing machine?

"Ugh," Rory groaned, holding her forehead, and staring at her closet with an even more intense gaze. "I hate you." She told her closet, pulling out a pair of jeans, a white skirt, and a black dress. "Being prepared for all occasions never hurts," she told herself, placing the items in her suitcase.

The rest of her suitcase packing came easily once she had the necessities packed away; a sequin studded t-shirt, a tweed blazer, a dress shirt, and three pairs of shoes. The easiest of things to pack, were the pajamas, the make up, and hair supplies.

Triumphant in her packing by six o' clock, she sat on the couch, staring at the door to her suite, and awaiting for the reconciliation date to begin.

She was nervous; but that was understandable. She was nervous when she first got back together with Dean. She was nervous when she first saw Jess again in the middle of her freshman year at Yale – so all in all, the nervousness that was settling in the pit of her stomach were just pre-seeing jitters.

Groaning, she picked at a stray thread on the afghan at the foot of the couch. She was bored, and she knew she wouldn't be able to immerse herself in a book while she was waiting. Perhaps she should call her mother, or maybe she should attempt to drop off her newest article for the Yale Daily News – but that wasn't honestly an option; Paris would have her sit there and start a new article, and by the time seven o' clock came, she'd still be in the YDN office.

She wouldn't be home, and Logan would think she was having second thoughts.

A knock on the door threw her thinking off.

With a quick glance at the clock on the wall, she rose her eyebrows. Six, seventeen P.M. Logan wouldn't be early.

Standing, she smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on her pants. She bit the inside of her lip as she walked towards the door, her hand connecting with brass doorknob. Opening it, she inwardly deflated, "Hey," she greeted, opening the door wider, allowing him room to come in. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

He shrugged, and threw her his infamous smirk, "Surprise, surprise," he grinned, "What are you up to tonight?"

"Well… actually, I'm going out."

"When do you think you'll be back?"

"I'm uh… actually not coming back tonight."

"Oh," he said, nodding, glancing around the common room; his eyes landing on the suitcase beside the door, "Who're you going out with?"

"Tristan," she said slowly, tilting her head to the side.

"Hey, it's fine. We're not dating, we're friends who take their sexual needs out on each other. Nothing more, nothing less."

"I know… but about that—"

"You're back with your ex-boyfriend."

"Yeah—"

"The one that broke up with you on your birthday. The one from last night."

"Yes."

"Well, I'll leave you to get back to your make up night."

"Why are you angry?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing. "You have no right to be angry."

"Hey, whose angry? 'Cause I'm sure as Hell not angry – you give yourself way too much credit, Gilmore."

"Tristan—"

"No, don't. I get it, it was a one night thing. It's over – enjoy your life with Mr. Billionaire."

"God, shut up!" She snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, "It's been so obvious I wasn't over Logan! I wasn't comfortable entering the relationship with you in the first place!"

"I didn't force you to do one fucking thing, Rory!"

"I know!" She snapped, "But you coerced me into something you knew I wouldn't have ever done if I wasn't upset! You know I've never been this type of girl!"

"Well things fucking change, don't they? I didn't hear you complaining last night when you screamed my name over, and over again!"

"Get out!"

"I was just leaving," he snapped, throwing the door open. "Have a nice fucking life, Gilmore – and don't come crying to me when your boyfriend breaks your heart again."

He slammed the door closed behind him, shaking the door frame. Dropping onto the couch, Rory sighed, not allowing herself to let out a cry of frustration. Sitting Indian Style on the couch, she reached for the remote, turning the TV on, allowing herself to waist away the remaining half hour until Logan arrived.


	7. Kit Kat Bars

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

---Gilmore Girls---

**Chapter Seven: **Kit Kat Bars

---Gilmore Girls---

It seemed like an eternity as Rory sat on the sofa, her eyes scanning over ever grain of wood of on the backside of her dormitory door; every grain taking seconds to trace, and follow before it branched off into another, or just stopped in its entirety. In reality, it took Rory Gilmore all of three minutes to memorize her door as she waited for her rekindled flame to knock upon it.

And when it came, it couldn't of been welcomer if Christine Amanpour was on the other side.

Bounding to her feet, a firm smile on her face, she opened the door to reveal Logan on the other side, "Hey," she breathed.

"Out of breath, there Ace?" he said, kissing her in greeting.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said indignantly, pulling on the handle of the smaller of her suitcases, "So where are we going?"

"Ah, ah, ah, Ace," he smirked, taking a piece of black, layered silk, "That'd just ruin the surprise, now wouldn't it?"

Rory sighed, turning around so her back was facing Logan, "If you must," she frowned. Logan tied the blindfold over her eyes with a secure knot at the back of her head.

Taking her suitcases in his hand, the other on the small of her back to guide her, Logan kissed her cheek affectionately, "You ready, Ace?"

"Coffee?"

"In the car," he answered her, locking the back of her dorm door as they made their way out, closing it behind them.

"Oh how well you know me, Mac."

"I'm beside myself with pride," he chided as he led her across the courtyard, and towards the awaiting SUV.

The car smelt of alcohol and air fresheners, and Rory laughed. Leave it to Finn to leave alcohol bottles strewn about in his car. Logan guided her into the far back row of seats in the SUV, and buckled her seatbelt before residing in the seat just next to her.

"Why is everyone so quiet?" she whispered to Logan, as his hand found hers.

"Because we're the only ones here, Ace," he whispered back to her, "Everyone is due to arrive in—" he glanced down at his watch, "A minute and a half."

"And just how will we spend that minute and a half, dear Mr. Huntzberger?"

"I have a few ideas," he whispered into her ear before pressing his lips to her neck.

Rory turned her head to the side, and caught his lips off guard with her own. Pecking at them affectionately, she placed her hand on Logan's chin, allowing him to take the reigns of their kiss.

Logan smiled against her mouth, before pulling away and brushing his lips against her cheek, "I've missed you, Ace."

"I've missed you too," Rory concurred, running her fingers over the black fabric of the blindfold. "So, where's my coffee?"

Rory listened as Logan shifted around the backseat, before she felt no movement at all. She sat there for a few seconds, listening intently to any sounds that were within six feet of her. The seat shifted again, and Rory supposed it was under Logan's weight. Being greeted with the aroma of coffee, Rory grinned, and hastily reached her hand out.

"What if this wasn't for you, Reporter Girl?" came the voice of Colin, "What if I had developed a strong love for this beverage because alcohol just didn't do it for me anymore?"

"You see these boots, Colin?"

"Uh huh."

"They'd be kicking your ass."

"Ah, feisty this evening—I dare say I like it." He leered, placing the to-go cup of coffee in her alabaster hand.

"Where'd your leader go?" she asked, her lips against the plastic of the cover as she did so.

"I believe he went to go make sure everyone else was at their sanctioned places so we could prepare for take off," Colin deadpanned, moving out of the backseat, "Just be prepared for the jolt."

---the Inc.---

"Finally," Rory cried as Logan pulled the blindfold off from over her eyes, shoving it into his pocket. "So, where are we?"

"Still in the U.S." he answered, throwing his arm around her shoulders, and guiding her down a pathway.

"Where'd everyone go?"

"Their separate ways, Ace. Don't worry about it—we'll catch up with them later." He told her, pressing his lips to her cheek, "But right now, I want to catch up with you."

"And what does catching up entail?" she asked, leaning into his frame. She glanced up at him, before looking at the path that was splayed out in front of her.

"A lot of this," he stopped, and turned towards her, pressing his lips gently to hers.

Allowing her features she scrunch up in an unattractive look, Rory gently pushed Logan away from her tiny frame. She gave him a withering look and crossed her arms over her chest, "I'd prefer it if we just talked, Logan."

Nodding his head, Logan draped his arm around her shoulders, affectionately pulling her closer to him, "So how's life been treating you?"

"Good… it's been good. You?"

"Same old, same old."

"Could you should me to where we're staying? I'm kind of tired, and I'd like to take a nap."

Giving her a frustrated look, Logan nodded, "Sure, Ace."

---the Inc.---

Throwing the door to Cheyenne's suite open, Tristan tossed his jacket onto the floor and kicked the door closed behind him. "Cheyenne," he called through the spicy abode his friend called home, allowing his feet to guide him towards the small refrigerator the kitchenette provided for him. "Cheyenne!"

Pulling jeans over his leg and bottom, Cheyenne buttoned the copper button and followed Tristan's voice towards the kitchenette, an irritated smile placated on his lips, "Tristan, my friend, what can I help you with? I was kind of busy."

"Alexander?"

"Nah, Federico," Cheyenne said coolly, leaning against his counter lazily.

"She's back with that jackass," Tristan said, using the pad of his thumb to pop open a bottle of Honey Brown, "I went to see her earlier to see if she wanted to hang out—and her bags were packed. I'm an idiot to actually think that she wouldn't go back to him. The same fuckin' thing happened with Bagboy and I feel like I'm stuck in some horrible teenage soap opera all over again."

"Rory is back with Logan?" Chey rubbed his hand over his forehead, and cursed under his breath, "She should know better by now, darling."

"Well evidently she doesn't because she's off gallivanting with lover boy while I'm stuck here sulking over her. Again. My head should not be focused on Rory fuckin' Gilmore—my head should be focused on school and the soccer team—Jesus Christ, Chey, why the hell can't I just get the girl for once? Is there some rule book that says Tristan can't ever have the girl?"

"Cheyenne?"

"I'll be there in one second, cutie!" Cheyenne called over his shoulder before turning his full attention back to Tristan, "Look, when Rory gets home I'll talk to her. We had a conversation earlier this morning about her still being in love with him—"

"Really? Because she didn't toss that in my face or anything this afternoon," he scoffed, taking a deep swig of his beverage.

"I'm honestly sor—"

"Cheyenne," Federico interrupted mid-Cheyenne's-sentence, "I'm going to head off."

"Darling! No, I'm sorry, it's just my friend here is having some girl trouble—I'll be done in a second."

"Nah," Federico smiled, "I have to finish up a Political Science essay. Just give me a call when your free." He kissed Cheyenne on the corner of the mouth and gave a half-hearted smile to Tristan as he made his way out of the dorm room.

"Sorry," Tristan grimaced, rubbing his forehead with his free hand, "I should have just cooled off myself."

"Don't worry about it, buddy," Cheyenne said, throwing his arm over Tristan's shoulder and leading him towards the couch, "Now what is it that you straight boys do when you hang out? Watch sports?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Great! I'm up for some baseball—man, if only I could play with one of those boys. Have you seen the tightness of their pants? Mmm, mmm, mmm! You can break me off a piece of those Kit Kat bars any day!"


End file.
